When duty calls
by drymecatcher29
Summary: What happens if the one thing you care about is out to kill you? read and find out. (MxN all the way) This is my first fic so no flames plz.


**Hey people. thank you for reading this. **

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**PROLOGUE**

_The figure was hunched in pain. Not emitting a sound, but in obvious pain. It appeared to be female, sharp aquiline features pointing to such. She finally looked up with shaky movements and rose to her feet with several stumbles in between. She then lifted her hand and stared at it. It appeared to be made of silver and was coated with spots of red, then lifted her head and gasped, pressing her hand to her temple and grimaced. She did so because of the horrific scene that surrounded her; there appeared to be the remains of a town, bodies strewn around the broken ruins of wooden houses. She knew if she checked it, the people would have holes in their chests in the precise shape of her hand on the end of her mechanical arm, the one that replaced the stump of shoulder that she had been born with._

_She steadied herself as she remembered these people being evil, attacking their nomadic visitors for supplies, money or valuables. The last thing she remembered before the blackout was that the people had converged over her phony-sleeping form (she knew that they were no good, as the Council had informed her of their habits) hoping that she wouldn't break as she fought them off. But then the adrenalin hit, and then she blacked out. And now, she had a mess to clean up. A mess she brought on herself for accepting these kinds of extermination jobs. She walked to the remains of an inn; the identity of the building proven by the broken sign placed on the shell of the front of the building. She touched the front of the building as she walked in and then jumped back in alarm as the entire front collapsed._

_Raising an eyebrow in shock, and slight admiration directed towards herself, she was undoubtedly excellent at what she did. Given that that was what she had been doing since the end of all the singing wars, she was brilliant. She reached a lone room; demure and shut away it appeared to be the only survivor of her demonic rage. She hefted a modest, thread-bare pack onto her back removing two things from it before moving back into the open yard of the town. One appeared to be a communicator of some kind, while the other was a dirty looking lighter. She flipped open the communicator, dialling a code into the password slot, and then dialling a number, scrunched the device between her shoulder and ear. Simultaneously she was flicking the lighter to reluctant life. Once it lit she collected the rather smallish flame in the palm of her mechanical arm and began to distribute the flames in almost every direction, lighting the ruins into a massive inferno._

_Meanwhile the device's rings had just been answered by an unknown party. "Done?" , asked a harassed sounding official. "Awww did Ken's bedtime change again?" the girl replied with a tone that had barely concealed distain in it. "Don't play with me _girl. Y_ou don't fool anyone with that demon body of yours. _Are. You. Done?" _"Oh, yes I have. Don't worry Kenny, your wife and daughter are perfectly safe from another town of murderers." "How did you know?" the man asked with a hushed voice after a brief pause . She grinned at the destructive flame-storm before her, "I just knew." She shut the device and stretched out slightly, then caressed her silver leg with her matching silver arm, turned with an unbelievable grace and ran into the desert bordering the town now burning. Ironic, she thought, the town was called Los Angeles before the singing wars. The angel. How apt. _

_She then instinctively touched her bracelet, feeling the words on the twisted piece of bronze '__numquam__ridere__fletus__sirenis__'. Never smile at a weeping siren. Wise words her father had gifted to her before his death during the wars, well over three centuries ago. She sighed as she felt the familiar ache in her bones, a clear reminder of her age. While she looked eighteen, she was actually three hundred and ninety nine years old, being born exactly a year after the start of the singing wars, a series of deadly biological wars in which nearly every country released bio nuclear and nuclear warheads at enemies, began._

_The resulting mess of viruses combined to form mutant diseases that simply destroyed nearly ninety five per cent of the world's population in just a year. The remaining survivors found themselves extremely powerful, but frequently born without certain body parts, explaining her lack of an actual right arm and leg. Her father among one of the surviving scientists decided to try an experiment on the young child that was her. He developed certain prosthetics to replace missing parts. The original experiment went well and she reacted normally, but then the fits and black outs began._

_She slowly became more and more violent during these times and finally killed her own father. And not to mention his entire laboratory of over eight hundred acres was reduced to almost nothing along with all his four thousand helpers. This led her to abandon her life in civilization, made her move to the wilderness (if you could call the widest expanse of desert wilderness) to teach herself control over her abilities and to mourn the loss of her father, whom she loved very much. She had even tried to drown herself in the great algae covered ocean surrounding the continent upon which she lived (previously known as Africa). _

_This statement simply must be explained. Due to all the nuclear warheads, almost all trees were killed, the only trees left were great big trees that oozed poison in the old Amazon forest. So to make up for the loss of trees, algal growth shot up covering the entire expanse of the vast oceans. She smiled ruefully as she ran, remembering the most bleak time in her life, she ran faster as she recollected the fateful meeting between herself and the 'Council'_

_. They claimed to be the form of new government that hoped to help the survivors of the foolishness of their ancestors. They hoped she could help them rid the planet of the vile creatures that now inhabited it. She of course agreed as these were the exact sentiments of her late father and she hoped to bring all his wisdom to the broken world they lived in now. But they had deceived her, no matter what they said, any five year old could tell you that they would never succeed at this desperate attempt to save the torn world. She learned it too late._

_And then there was him. Natsume. The name still sent a trill through her. No she had to focus. Forget him. She snorted, yeah right. She pushed herself forward, if even possible, faster, disappearing over the horizon. _

_IN THE BURNING TOWN_

_A lone figure stood amongst the swirling flames. A man foolish enough to attempt to best the untamed flames. He crouched and placed an arm on one of the burning bodies, he then proceeded to flip the body with a strength unbelievably similar to the young (or is it old) woman from before. He traced the outline of the hand mark, and flicked off the blood that soaked onto his skin._

_Another man approached from behind him and gave him an ill disguised look of loathing. "OK DR. Joeresberg. Is it her?" the first man chuckled and gave him a seemingly friendly punch, but was obviously not, as a faint crack noise emanated from his shoulder. "It is her don't worry" the first said in a rather loud voice, in order to drown out his partner's howling, "__Q__uin etiam__tibi filiam meam,__Mikan__."* He muttered under his breath as he steered his half-unconscious partner into a waiting helicopter. There was another man waiting at the vehicle, wearing the most emotionless face possible, as he simply pushed the injured man into the waiting seating area. "She was there?" the man asked with a detached voice. "Natsume, please you know she was. You were such close friends as children, more so later though" the first replied with a slight smirk on the lines of his face. The man, apparently named Natsume, bent his head forward in an almost mournful way, but the older man knew he was merely hiding his blush. He laughed and clapped Natsume on the arm, as he said, " Let's move out."_

_*Translation: _I_t is indeed you my daughter, Mikan._

-x-x-

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**Just to make it clear, the old guy is Mikan's dad and the emo is Natsume.**


End file.
